


Five Times Prowl Needed Some Extra TLC, and One Time Everyone Else Did

by eerian_sadow



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Fluff, Gen, M/M, pick-me-up fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-19
Updated: 2015-05-28
Packaged: 2017-12-15 10:58:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/848737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eerian_sadow/pseuds/eerian_sadow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, even the Autobots' tactical genius needs some extra love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fungal Infections Are Gross

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wicked3659](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wicked3659/gifts).



"Hi, Prowl." Bluestreak's voice was soft as he approached he tactician's berth. "Feeling any better?"

"Not especially, no." Prowl's voice was high and tinny, his vocalizer stuck in the wrong range and refusing to reset. His cooling fans rattled as they spun, loosening with overuse, and his ventelation system wheezed as it attempted to push overly moist air out of his body.

"Yeah, you don't sound much better either." The sniper sat down on the edge of the berth, ignoring the fact that he could become infected as easily as Prowl had. "Ratchet said that Perceptor has an idea for an anti-fungal agent that will kill the mold so that you don't keep collecting water."

"Good to know." The elder Praxian reached out, with a groan of protestest from his rusting joints, to give the younger mech's hand a squeeze. He froze before touching Bluestreak. "You should go, before you become contaminated too."

"No way." The silver mech reached fo the black and white's hand and clutched it tightly. "I'm staying right here and making sure you have fuel and coolant and blankets if you need them and status reports and to call Ratchet if something goes horribly wrong. Not that it will, I just want to be prepared. And if I'm already here, then Perceptor can just pass me the anti-fungus stuff through the quarantine lock and no one else has to be exposed, even though Bumblebee and Mirage both have it, too."

"Thank you." Prowl gave the sniper a small smile. "How are Bumblebee and Mirage?"

"Not quite as bad as you, but their filters weren't holding as much of the mold to begin with, or so Ratchet said. How did you get all that in there anyway?"

Prowl started to answer, but his intakes hitched and he began coughing as his systems attempting to clear at least one passage for ventilation. After several violent coughs, he leaned over and spat a glob of brownish mold into the bowl next to his berth. Then the ill mech fell back onto the cushions piled up behind him. 

"Ew," Bluestreak said.

"Indeed." The black and white mech took a moment to shift and try to get more comfortable. "And I was in the wrong combat zone when the mold began releasing its reproductive spores. Dirge's infection must be at least as bad as mine."

"I hope so. He deserves this after what he did to Sideswipe on the shuttle." The younger Praxian frowned.

"How is Sideswipe? Has Ratchet finished his repairs yet?" Prowl knew he needed to divert Bluestreak's attention away from his anger at what the Seeker had done to his lover. "And the rest of the crew? I'm not allowed much news, you know. Ratchet is convinced I might try to work."

"Pft, as if you could! I'm not sure your fingers will bend enough to even hold you data pad. Oh, speaking of, I brought some of that joint lubricant Mirage keeps stashed in his quarters. He told Ratchet that it helped keep his hands working, so Ratch wants you and Bee to try too." The sniper pulled the container from his subspace and opened it. He smiled as he began working the lubricant into the finger joints of the hand he was still holding. "And Sideswipe is doing great. Ratchet let him out yesterday and said his repairs could finish integrating in his quarters, which is maybe not so good for Sunstreaker because he needs a lot of help still. And Hound figured out where Soundwave's spies are getting in this time. And Cosmos made you guys some special blend of energon soup that's supposed to make you feel better. Ratchet says it's just a folk remedy, but Cosmos said his carrier swears by it and even if it doesn't have medical value it's still good for your processor and spark..."

Prowl smiled softly and let Blue's rambles and gentle hands lull him into relaxation. Bluestreak would tell him everything he needed to catch up with most of the current events among the crew and he could count on Blaster or Jazz for the rest.


	2. Battle Damage Sucks

"It's all right, Prowl. I've got you." Smokescreen eased his fellow tactician into the dubious shelter of a bombed out building and settled him on a pile of debris. He hoped he didn't sound as worried as he felt, because Prowl's wounds were serious and he wasn't sure the Decepticons hadn't seen them duck into the building.

"The others?" Prowl was swaying unsteadily, even seated, and his left doorwing was drooping so low that Smokescreen was sure the hinge was broken.

"Lost sight of them in the explosion." The blue mech pulled out his first aid kit, glad that Ratchet had made carrying them mandatory after they arrived on Earth and had enough supplies to stock them all. "Tell me what damage reports you're getting."

"I'm not... I don't know." The senior tactician frowned. "It's all gibberish."

"Slag. Processor damage on top of everything else." Smokescreen leaned around the other Praxian and slapped a sensor block on the damaged doorwing. He examined the hinge, and saw that it was melted instead of broken. Either way, Ratchet would br replacing the assembly if they got out alive. "Did that help any?"

"Some of the messages are gone," Prowl replied, "But I still can't read them."

"We'll worry about that after we get back to base." The junior tactician moved back in front of his commander and began inspecting a long gash in the other mech's leg. He quashed the urge to calculate their odds of a successful return to the _Ark_. "Right now, we get you patched. Then we wait for Trailbreaker to bring the cavalry."

"You have absorbed entirely too much Human slang."

"Oh, please. Jazz makes me look like an amateur."

They fell into silence as Smokescreen worked. He did his best to tape broken lines back together, seal holes and block pain sensors as needed. Prowl contributed by holding very still and not screaming when the junior tactician hurt him I the process of patching him together. When he was done, Smokey pushed an emergency ration into the black and white mech's hands.

"Drink some of that and get your fuel levels back up. A lot of yours is all over the floor."

"Yes, doctor." Prowl gave him a small smile and opened the ration.

As the other Praxian sipped at the ration pouch, Smokescreen stood and cautiosly approached the door. He couldn't hear the battle anymore, but that didn't make them safe. When he peered outside, he didn't see any Decepticons in the rubble.

If anyone bet against them being out there, though, it was a bet Smokey wouldn't take.

The diversionary tactician ducked back inside before his coloring could give him away and walked back over to Prowl. "It looks like they've moved on. Rescue should be on its way anytime."

"Good." The black and white mech was still nursing his energon, but he had shuttered his optics and was venting erratically. "I believe my situation may be more dire than either of us believed."

With a frown, Smokescreen activated his sensors and scanned Prowl. He was no medic, but he had picked up a few things during the war and knew how to look for damage his visual sensors might have missed. The blue mech just barely managed to suppress a groan of dismay when he realized the other mech's cooling system was barely functioning.

There were two chemical cooling pads in the first aid kit. They weren't much, but the might be enough to be the difference between Prowl's survival and Trailbreaker getting the worst promotion ever. 

Quickly, Smokescreen dug the packs out and activated them. Then he turned up his own cooling system so that his armor would chill, giving the senior tactician that much more help. Once he was sure his external temperature was dropping, Smokescreen settled down next to Prowl and pulled the other mech against his side.

The black and white mech sighed in relief. Then he made a contented sound as the junior tactician laid one cooling pad over his spark casing and held one to the side of his head. Once Prowl's ventilation evened back out, Smokescreen decided that things were bad enough to risk the Decepticons finding them.

Trusting in whatever quirk of fate had kept Prowl alive this long, he activated his distress beacon.


	3. Tension is a Pain

He felt the tension creeping up his spine, moving steadily into his shoulders and neck. All his cables drew in, tightening in response to the stress he was under and compressing his fluid lines. The tension led to system strain, as his body fought for vital fluids that were trapped in less pressurized parts of his circulatory system. The system strain led to pain, as his processor fought his body to continue proper functions.

His optics throbbed, feeling as if they would fall from their sockets at any moment if the pain didn’t ease. His limbs felt heavy and thick, aching with the strain of trying to work with out of balance fluids and cables that were pulled too tight. His doorwings twitched constantly, trying to loosen the tense cables restricting their movement and sending sharp burst of pain across his sensor net instead. His fingers burned as fluids built up in them, over-full lines expanding and pressing against delicate components and forcing them into unyielding plating and protoform.

In short, Prowl felt awful.

In the wake of this most recent attack, he wished for nothing more than the chance to _stop_ and lay down for a while. He needed the downtime to recharge and relax his systems, but with Optimus still undergoing intensive repairs in the medbay, there was little chance of that happening any time soon. There was simply too much to do; too many clean-up efforts to organize, too many reports to log, and ten times the number of politicians to placate than there should have been and less than half the number of officers there should have been to handle them.

The awareness of just how long it would probably be before he could rest made his cables tighten further and he whimpered softly as his processor throbbed in response.

“Mech, you look like you should be in the medbay with Optimus and Ironhide.”

The tactician looked up from the damage report that he was still, hours later, attempting to compile. “I feel like it, too. Tell me you have good news, Jazz.”

The saboteur shrugged one shoulder as he stepped further into the Praxian’s office. “No news, which is about the same thing right now.”

"It's not good enough. We have to know what Megatron is planning so that we can plan---"

"Mirage is on it, Prowl. We just gotta give him time." Jazz walked up beside the desk and put a hand on the other black and white's shoulder. "Damn, mech. You're wound tighter than a spring. You gotta take a break."

"I can't. There is too much left to do, especially in Optimus' absence." Prowl shook his head. 

"You can and you will. You gotta get away from that desk before you break something." The visored mech tugged on the other mech's shoulder gently. "I'm not going to force you to recharge, even though I know you need it, but I am going to make you take a break. By carrying you away from the desk, if necessary."

"Jazz..." the Autobot second's tone was dark.

"I mean it. You're taking _at least_ an hour off." Jazz tightened his grip on Prowl's shoulder and tugged again. "Under your own power or not is where you get the choice."

"Very well." Prowl frowned deeply. "Thirty minutes, and not one minute more."

"All right, my mech. Thirty minutes." The saboteur stepped back so that the other mech could stand. "C'mon, lets grab some energon."

The tactician tried to stand and hissed in pain as his hip joint froze. He started to tip sideways as his leg refused to support his weight, but Jazz darted under his arm quickly and held him up. 

"If you're joints are giving out, I take it back. You're on break for that full hour." Jazz glared at him until Prowl nodded weekly. "Any politician squawks, _I'll_ tell them where to stick it."

"That could set our relationship with the Soviet Union back years." Despite the seriousness of his protest, Prowl could hear the exhaustion creeping into his voice. 

"I'll be polite when I tell them to cram it up their exhaust ports." The visored mech turned the Praxian carefully toward the door. "Now, come on. You still need that energon, and then you need a good massage. You're cables are so strained they're making _my_ shoulders hurt."

"You are just trying to trick me into recharge," The tactician accused him, limping carefully alongside.

"Hey, if you pass out on me, that's just an added bonus. It's two in the morning in Moscow anyway; the Humans will wait."


End file.
